


Ahead Of The Game

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Tiger's Tumblr Ficlets [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Premature Ejaculation, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had happened because of a case. Of course it happened because of a case.</p>
<p>   Sherlock had been baffled by a series of marks on a victim’s body. Growing increasingly frustrated and anxious, he had listed a variety of diseases that could have caused such marks. Through it all, he had failed to notice the small smirks and quiet chuckles from the police a CSIs around him. After giving a rather panicked description of melanoma, he had stopped talking once John placed a gentle hand on his wrist. Drawing him close, John had lifted his arm to his mouth, and sucked a small bruise onto the inside of his elbow then compared it to the marks on the victim’s throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ahead Of The Game

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt fill for a follower over on tiger-in-the-flightdeck.tumblr.com  
>  Any of the big italicized portions are Sherlock's internal thoughts. 
> 
> I finally got to put my medical text books to work with this. Whee.

_Spermatozoon [Noun. Male reproductive cell. Common name- Sperm] are formed inside the seminiferous tubules located within the globes of the testes._

“Christ, Sherlock, you’re so beautiful.” John cupped his friend’s cheek as he guided him down to the bed.

 

Biting his lip, Sherlock fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. His fingers shook, and he tore a jet chip off trying to work it through its hole. “Th-thank you.” He glared at his clumsy hands for a moment before looking up to where John was casually removing his jumper. The doctor folded it, and set it aside on the floor. “You’re quite attractive as well.” He added as an after-thought, his voice almost pleading.

 

With a soft chuckle, John crawled up onto the bed clad only in his jeans. He had removed his belt, and opened the flies to relieve the pressure building. Sherlock lay back to allow John access to his clothes. It seemed easier to submit himself to the older man’s confidence.

 

It had happened because of a case. Of course it happened because of a case.

 

Sherlock had been baffled by a series of marks on a victim’s body. Growing increasingly frustrated and anxious, he had listed a variety of diseases that could have caused such marks. Through it all, he had failed to notice the small smirks and quiet chuckles from the police a CSIs around him. After giving a rather panicked description of melanoma, he had stopped talking once John placed a gentle hand on his wrist. Drawing him close, John had lifted his arm to his mouth, and sucked a small bruise onto the inside of his elbow then compared it to the marks on the victim’s throat.

 

_Sperm cells move through to the epididymis located at the top of each testis to mature and gain motility._

Breathing heavily through his nose, Sherlock shivered as John trailed his fingertips up his chest, following them with kisses. More than a little awkward, he reached up to cup the back of his head, running his nails through short blond hair. It was almost frightening, how quickly Sherlock found himself pliant and desperate under his friend’s ministrations.

 

John was solidly built. Strong, and heavier than his height would suggest. When he straddled Sherlock’s hips, and covered him with his body, the detective was pleasantly breathless. He tried to sit up enough to remove his shirt, but got his arms pinned under his back for his troubles. “Help?” He asked, his voice tiny. Whimpering, he struggled with the shirt, wincing to hear a seam pop.

 

“You’ve really never done this, have you?” John sat Sherlock up, and eased his arms out of his sleeves, and set the shirt aside. Pressing him back down onto the bed, he kissed his neck, sucking a matching mark just below his ear.

 

_From the epididymis, the sperm travels through the seminal vesicles, otherwise known as the vas deferens. Forty percent of ejaculate comes from these vesicles. A thick, sugary substance is secreted to nourish the sperm. This becomes a portion of ejaculated semen._

 

Arching off the bed, Sherlock fisted his hands in the sheet. He shook his head and sucked his full bottom lip into his mouth. “Not for a very long time. Ten years, perhaps. And never with anyone I-” He coughed and turned his face away. “Someone I was fond of, outside of what we were doing.”

 

John slipped a hand down between them, and pushed his jeans past his full hips. His dark grey pants were straining out in front, with a tiny damp patched forming at the tip of his cock. Looking down the length of them, he squeezed himself just behind the head, rather than risk completing too soon. He had thought about this far too often. Images of Sherlock, naked and pleading under him, had flown in and out of John’s head since the day they had moved in together. “I’m just as fond of you, Sherlock.” he reassured, thumbing open the button of the young man’s trousers. “Are these… Sherlock, is your name written on these?” He pulled back to examine the waistband of the worn and faded white boxer-briefs Sherlock wore. In fact, there on the slightly frayed band in red felt tip, was the description- ** _Sherlock Holmes, rm 109. Please return if found_**.

 

“I attended a boarding school with on-site laundry.” Sherlock frowned and plucked at the waistband of the underwear. “If you didn’t have your name on your clothes, you didn’t get them back. Problem?”

 

“I’m buying you new underwear.” John chuckled and stretched back down. With a couple small adjustments, he was able to fit his cock alongside Sherlock’s. They were so different. Through the thin material, John could tell that Sherlock almost an inch longer than him but slim. John himself was thick, at its widest he was nearly as big around as his friend’s wrist. Rolling his hips to slide them side by side, he nuzzled into the warm curve of Sherlock’s neck to purr, “We’ll spend a day at some boutiques, get you some nice smalls.”

 

Linking their fingers together, John pinned them down to the bed. “Have you ever felt silk on your prick?” he murmured, picking up the speed of his thrusts. “Maybe I’ll buy you some purple silk shorts. You can wear them with just your shirt. I’ll see how quickly I can make you come with just my mouth.”

 

_From the vas deferens, the sperm travels to the ejaculatory duct which leads to the urethra. The prostate gland nearly encircles the upper end of the urethra. Internal stimulation of the gland, caused by the shifting of an erect penis encourages pre-ejaculate expulsion. Shifting of an erect penis. Shifting of an erect penis. Internal stimulation._

 

Sherlock tightened his hold on John’s fingers and bucked up. “You want to do this again?” he gasped. Friction. His entire existence was narrowed down to delicious, tortuous friction. He couldn’t catch his breath, and there was a hot, coiled tension building in his abdomen.

 

“Of course I do, you git.” John dragged his tongue over Sherlock’s pulse before sucking his skin. Claiming him. “I never want to stop doing this.” His hips began to snap in short, but smooth strokes. The spot on the front of his pants grew and spread. “It’s going to take all of my power not to grab and hump you against a police car next time we’re on a case together.” Bowing his spine, John panted, puffing hot breath over Sherlock’s skin. “It was hard enough before, watching you being a tempting little bastard. You’d get into your brilliance, and I’d have to tuck my cock up behind my belt.”

 

Sherlock rolled his shoulders, and tried to lift his hips up. John’s jeans- still only half way down his thighs- pinned him in place from the doctor’s position straddling him. He was completely at John’s mercy, and in his control. “God…”

 

_The glans penis- the soft sensitive region at the tip of the penis- often becomes wet with pre-ejaculate prior to orgasm. The clear fluid aides in movement, especially of the prepuce [Noun. Tender fold of skin. Common name- foreskin] over the glans. The more manual, internal stimulation to the prostate, the more pre-ejaculate is formed._

 

John was holding him down. Taking care of him. He was being gentle, and loving, and rough, and aggressive. His breath was damp and harsh in his ear as his hips pumped them together. John had him pinned to the bed. He trusted John. Like no one else in the world, he would allow John to do whatever he wanted to him. He would give the man all of himself. Because he knew how caring and devoted he would be. John was-

 

_The bulbourethral glands secrete the remainder of the seminal fluids. The muscular tissue of the prostate creates the force needed to expel semen from the body. AtthemomentoforgasmthecombinedsementravelsdowntheurethratobeejaculatedthroughthetipofthepenisOHGOD._

“John!” Sherlock stiffened and cried out, his body lifting off the bed. Shaking and disgusted, he looked down his body to the wet stain spreading on the front of his underwear. The white material went transparent, clearly displaying the outline of his still jumping cock. Clenching his eyes shut, he turned his head with a soft sob for air. “I’m sorry. I can still… I’ll finish you with my hands. I don’t know if I’m any good at oral sex. It’s been a long time since I attempted it. I’m sorry. John, I’m sorry.”

 

Pupils blown wide, his eyes almost black with lust, John rolled himself up on his knees. “Did you just…?” Lips parted, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a tiny smile, he lifted the band of Sherlock’s pants to peek inside. “Oh… _Sherlock_ …”

 

“Don’t.” Sherlock muttered, rising up on his elbows. “If you tell me it happens to every man, I swear, I will bite off your ear.” Swiping his hand over his eyes, he brushed away the tears clinging to his lashes and flopped back down onto his pillow. “I don’t want to hear that it’s fine. Or that it was-“

 

“That was so fucking sexy.” John growled, peeling the wet cloth back. Coated in come, Sherlock’s prick was slick and shining. “Oh, Jesus… look at you.”

 

“S-sexy?” Sherlock craned his neck, to stare down at John in confusion. “How?”

 

Jeans tossed to the floor in a heap, John scrambled to strip out of his jeans and pants. He yanked Sherlock’s bottoms down with his pants. Dragging his short, strong fingers through the thick pool of semen, he brought them to his lips. “You should have seen your face.” John hunkered down between Sherlock’s thighs. His tongue peeked out to lap at the over-sensitive flesh. The come was still warm, and bittersweet, smearing across his lips. Looking up along Sherlock’s belly and chest, he moaned at the look on his partner’s face.

 

His sharp cheeks were flushed pink, and his slanting grey eyes were heavy and hooded. Lolling, his head nearly rested on his shoulder, and his full lower lip pushed out in a petulant pout.

 

“Fuck…” John crawled up the length of him, settling his cock against Sherlock’s. His tongue slipped into his mouth before their lips met, licking in deep. They clashed together, John splitting his lip on one of Sherlock’s crooked lower teeth. Holding him down with his forearm braced across his chest, he reached between them to take them both in hand. “I’ve never made someone come just from kissing them.” He jerked his fist, focusing most of his attention on the heads. “I’m going to see if I can make you come with just my cock inside you next time.”

 

John could feel his bollocks grow heavy and snug up against his body. Sherlock was beginning to squirm under him again. His mouth was open and his eyes glazed. He looked beautiful. With his sweat dampened tangled curls, he looked like some sort of debauched, wild fey.

 

“You could,” Sherlock insisted, moving his hands down to help. One gripped the base of John’s cock and pumped, while the other gently rolled his bollocks over his long fingers. “You’re so big, John. You’d fill me up and make me come for you.” Tentatively, he lifted his head to nibble John’s earlobe then trail the tip of his tongue over the soft skin behind it. “Please come for me.”

 

“Just… Give me a second…” Biting his lip, John held himself up on one arm. Able to see the way they looked moving together, it was enough to push him over the trembling edge of orgasm.

 

He was loud. He was always fairly vocal, even when just masturbating. But he was all but shouting as he came. Chanting Sherlock’s name, growling, and swearing, John could probably be heard out on the street through their open window. Through the incoherent babbling, and the promises to love no one but the beautiful detective, John  _giggled._ As he spilled his semen over his fist and into the tight nest of curls between the deep hollows of Sherlock’s hips, he giggled like a madman until he was gasping for air.

 

“Are you in shock?” Sherlock asked after several minutes, when John had collapsed onto his chest, still shuddering with suppressed laughter. “Or is this some sort of orgasm dementia?” He scowled, and tried to roll the other man off of himself. He was sticky, and beginning to cramp, and John was heavy. Grunting, he pushed and swatted and rolled until they were each lying on their sides.

 

“Must be.” John murmured, groping on the floor for his vest. He used it to mop himself, then Sherlock up. Letting it drop back to the floor, he spooned himself around the younger man.

 

“Which? Shock, or dementia?” Sherlock reached back to curl his hand around the swell of John’s hip. He yawned, and nuzzled down into his pillow.

 

“Dunno. Both?” Another bubble of giggles spilled from his lips. “Problem?”

 

Semen was drying in his pubic hair. They both needed a shower, but would probably fall asleep, and wake up stuck together. He was still wearing his socks- mismatched, one blue, the other dark red and his wet underwear hung off of one ankle. His hair was a wreck, and would probably take an hour to detangle. It was still only about half three in the afternoon, and he could hear Mrs Hudson downstairs, puttering around in her kitchen.

 

“None at all.”


End file.
